Broken Branches
by Artemesia
Summary: A year after returning to England, Eriol and company (and their amateur sleuth neighbor)are pulled into mystery and intrigue. A crossover with the Richard Jury series.


Precursor to the Author's Note: Unless there is someone else out there who is a fan of both Cardcaptor Sakura and the Richard Jury series, half of this story will make no sense. And so here is a basic primer to both series so you (with many, many spoilers), gentle reader, won't be quite so confused.  
  
All you need to know about Cardcaptor Sakura to understand this series:  
  
Eriol Hiragizawa - Reincarnation of Clow Reed, powerful half-English, half- Chinese sorcerer Ruby Moon – His butterfly-winged moon guardian. Brilliant, athletic, fashionable with confidence verging on brashness. In her false, human looking form, she goes by Nakuru Akizuki. Spinel Sun – Eriol's pantherish sun guardian. A quiet bookworm with a complex over sweets, Spinel Sun is often at his 'sister's' mercy – in his small form (a black cat with wings) Nakuru calls him Suppi-chan. Kaho Mizuki – Teacher, former shrine maiden, and Eriol's love interest. Possesses a fair amount of moon magic. Clow Reed – Created the 19 Clow Cards and two guardians. The cards were captured and converted by Sakura Kinomoto in Japan, with Eriol providing trials for her to convert the Clow Cards to Sakura Cards. Once his task was finished, Eriol returned to England. This story occurs one year after that.  
  
Everything you need to know about the Richard Jury series for this story:  
  
Melrose Plant – Former Lord Ardry and 8th Earl of Caverness. Occasional chair of French Romantic Poetry, amateur detective and general man of leisure. Has a fondness for port and Old Peculier. Closest friends are Richard Jury and Marshall Trueblood – his current love interest is Bea Slocum, a London painter. There are still a few lingering issues with Vivian Rivington, a Long Piddleton poet who has recently broken off a decade-long engagement due to Melrose and Marshall's meddling. Lady Agatha Ardry – Melrose's insufferable American aunt. Drops in at Ardry End when least expected – or wanted – and tends to steal his mother's jewelry and anything else not bolted down. Has a weakness for all sweets and is generally disliked by all but a handful of the villagers. Marshall Trueblood – Flamboyant and fashionable owner of Trueblood's Antiques. Very wealthy and also rather leisurely – he tends not to be in his shop but the pub next door, the Jack and Hammer. Vivian Rivington – Wealthy heiress and poet who was engaged to an Italian count for nearly ten years before breaking off the engagement, as above. Is interested, perhaps, in both Jury and Melrose, and is close friends with both men and Marshall. Diane Demorney – Another wealthy resident of Long Piddleton, she keeps her head full of obscure details and her glass full of expensive vodka. In 'The Stargazey,' she saved Melrose's life. An amateur astrologer with a penchant for white in her décor. Richard Jury – New Scotland Yard Superintendent and the actual protagonist of Martha Grimes' series. Kind yet melancholy with a tragic past – his mother was killed in the Blitz and his father in the war. Very popular with the women, which occasionally makes things interesting between him and Melrose, whom he often asks to go undercover to help with cases. Sergeant Wiggins – Jury's hypochondriac sergeant, who is always complaining of a new ailment and is fond of black biscuits (charcoal) to set everything right. His record-taking skills are immaculate and he often picks up on small but important details. He also surprises people with his abilities and interests. Ruthven and Martha – Melrose's butler and cook, also husband and wife. Have been in the family for ages and Melrose thinks of Ruthven as the ideal butler.  
  
And now....  
  
Author's note: Ohhhh my, this thing took on a life of it's own once I started typing. Both an answer to my own mystery crossover challenge on the TsukimineShrine LJ community and a precursor to a much larger series of work centering around Eriol, his guardians and Kaho, all back in England. My apologies for any misused British English! This will be a two piece story but both parts are rather massive.  
  
Disclaimer: CCS and all characters are owned by Clamp. The residents and visitors of Long Piddleton are owned by Martha Grimes, whom I hope will forgive me for borrowing the wonderful universe of her Richard Jury series. Especially one former Earl of Caverness. CCS canon is drawn from the manga and is set after Eriol and company's return to England; in the Juryverse, this veers off shortly after 'The Lamorna Wink.'  
  
Broken Branches  
  
by Artemesia  
  
The ghostly rustling of papers in a breeze set Colin on edge.  
  
Normally bored to tears by night duty at the British Library, tonight he was on edge, half-expecting some madman to leap out of the shadows whenever he turned the stacks. The strong wind outside certainly didn't help matters – the breeze blew through the ventilation shafts turning the otherwise silent special archives into a foreboding place.  
  
"Cor, don't know what the bloody books need to be guarded from, anyway," he said, his sweaty hand wrapped around the torch clipped to his waist. He looked at his watch in the dim light provided by the full moon out – though his break technically wasn't for another quarter-hour, sitting and watching some late night tele in the break room and having a cuppa sounded fine right now. Anything better than standing in the cavernous room hearing nothing but the pages and the pounding of his own heart.  
  
He was just about to check the doors before heading down when the ominous noise of books falling to the floor stopped him. Above the rush of blood in his ears, he raised a timid voice.  
  
"Who-, who's there?"  
  
There was a softer noise, the subtle click of a lock turning, of something being opened. He fumbled for his torch and clicked it on – the beam splayed erratically over the shelves, resting shakily on the pile of fallen books.  
  
"Sh-, show yourself!"  
  
"You really don't want me to do that," a sibilant voice said from the darkness beyond the reach of his light. "But since you've been nice enough to ask.."  
  
Colin's torch clattered to the ground as the man stepped out of the pitch darkness into the watery moonlight. An intense whisper directed at the guard and a second later, Colin dropped down besides the torch, the light shining into his barely blinking, unseeing blue eyes.  
  
The man shrugged and knelt down to pick up one of the tomes. It was bound in blue leather with silver metalwork along the front and back, coming to an elaborate clasp across the book itself. He caressed it and smiled grimly, taking the utmost care to step over the guard's inert form before he saw what knowledge the library had to offer.

Doing her best to relax on a cardboard box, nibbling on chocolate biscuits, Akizuki Nakuru uttered the two most dangerous words in the universe.  
  
"I'm bored!!"  
  
Spinel Sun, leaning over one of few tomes that had been unpacked, looked up from the floor in alarm. Eriol and Kaho had left earlier that morning into the village to see about furnishing the vast estate, Watermeadows, he had purchased – their flat in London was simply too small for all of them. The house was palatial, with a marble staircase that curved up from the entry hall and tall windows that let in copious amounts of sun and moonlight. The grounds, which must have covered at least a hundred acres, included a lake and a smaller summerhouse. For such a substantial piece of property, its selling price had been nothing short of a steal; the reason, however, was anything but happy. Kaho had psychically cleaned the main house and the grounds about the lake; the summerhouse, she had said, would take considerably more effort.  
  
Not waiting for her solar counterpart to respond, Nakuru flounced off the box, jamming the biscuit in her mouth and crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't understand why she hadn't been invited along; she looked human and she could behave in polite society. Depending on what, exactly, the definition of polite was. Eriol hadn't tested the 'Illusion' ward he had set over the grounds, and so they had been strongly encouraged to stay in their false forms. Nakuru had required more than encouragement – bribery had ultimately succeeded when a chocolate cake hadn't.  
  
"There are a few books unpacked," Spinel replied calmly, trying to defuse the situation before it began. "Since you supposedly want to go to university so much, it may behoove you to learn how to read something besides a fashion magazine."  
  
"I do read things besides fashion magazines," Nakuru said in a snippy manner, stomping her foot for emphasis. "I was one of the best students at Seijuu, unless you've forgotten!"  
  
"It seems I have," Spinel said, his voice taking on more of its usual bored, disdainful tone. "Now if you don't mind, some of us are trying to educate ourselves."  
  
But Nakuru couldn't be dismissed now, and if she was going to break her promise to Eriol, she was damned sure she'd torment her brother at the same time. She stomped over and grabbed the book from beneath his paws. He looked up, wounded and angry, and changed into his true form without so much as thinking. One couldn't exactly be threatening when he wasn't even half a foot high.  
  
"Give it back," he growled as he shook out his wings, his pointed ears bared back. Nakuru laughed and darted, backwards, towards the front doors, dangling the book in her hands.  
  
"But there's so many better things I could do besides give it back," she said in venomously sweet voice. "Like throwing it in the lake!" Lightening fast, she reached behind her and opened and slammed the door closed in a matter of nanoseconds. The heavy wooden door shuddered as the panther's weight bore down on it, giving her the seconds she needed to transform and head skyward. A cool breeze rustled through her hair and wings, the sunlight marvelous on her skin after being in the cold house. Laughing as she swerved to avoid a bolt of solar energy from behind her, she clutched the book closer to her and soared off towards the lake.It was only 11:00 – too early, in the minds of most people, to be heading to the pub.  
  
In Melrose Plant's opinion, 11:00 was too early to be awake.  
  
An uneasy feeling had awoken him not long after the feeble February sunrise, and no matter how many times he tossed, turned or pulled his pillow over his head, he simply could not go back to bed. He had dressed, taken breakfast, walked out onto his misty grounds, nearly gotten shot by Momabay, his too-vigilant groundskeeper, and had sat in his favorite armchair in the sitting room, nursing a glass of port, staring at the wall, waiting for sleep to overcome him.  
  
Two glasses of port and an hour later, he was still wide-awake, unable to shake the unease. If the bike ride from Ardry End to the Jack and Hammer wouldn't shake the growing malaise, then a few half-pints of Old Peculier certainly would.  
  
The slight rise in temperature was negated by the cool spring breeze that stung his cheeks as he pedaled down the long drive down to Northampton Road. For the most part, the trees were still dull and bare but a few flowers were starting to spring out of the cold earth. The grass, as usual, was the vibrant green that made the otherwise bleak winters bearable.  
  
He turned onto the main road and began the short trip into Long Piddleton. He soon came to the boundary between his land and Watermeadows – Miss Fludd, the last owner, had moved out when he returned from Cornwall last October, and the large house had sat, unoccupied, for several months. It had just been sold recently, and another game of 'guess the occupants' had begun. Richard Jury's entry had arrived a few days ago. Marshall Trueblood was wagering once again on London weekenders complete with Land Rover and retrievers.  
  
Melrose had put down 50 pounds (he could certainly afford any loss) and had predicted a ground of wandering magicians, complete with winged mystical beasts. If he was going to be wrong, he was going to spectacularly wrong.  
  
He coasted down the gently sloping road, slowing down slightly at the entrance to Watermeadows. He peered in the direction of the house, but he couldn't spot any sight of habitation – though in the late-winter chill they wouldn't exactly be out frolicking by the lake.  
  
As he sped up with the barest push on the pedals distinctly 'frolicking' sounds from above caught his attention. The sound of feminine frolicking, to be precise – there was a male voice as well but it sounded angry and annoyed, and it was roaring for its book back, and swearing in a handful of languages Melrose only half understood. But why was the noise coming from above? He craned his head to look, gliding down the empty road, and caught glimpse of a young woman above the bare trees.  
  
A young woman with violet hair and very large black butterfly wings, a book clutched in one hand and a handful of ruby crystals in the other. She laughed gleefully as she executed a sharp turn before she flew over the road, and as she darted out of sight a large panther with matching wings roared after her, a ray of pink energy shooting from his mouth towards the butterfly woman.  
  
The bike wobbled as Melrose's knees went curiously week. Such an improbable sight was a shock, but it more than that. The girl's laugh, the pale sunlight glimmering in her violet hair, the grace with which she flew – he had to know more about her. He had to meet her. The Jack and Hammer could wait until he had investigated further, though if that ray-gun breathing panther turned on him-  
  
He shook away the thought as he turned the bike around. However, he should have been more concerned about Marshall Trueblood's oncoming white van than a hypothetical death at the paws of said winged panther.  
  
There was a fabulous squeal as the van braked to a halt, but the bumper still hit Melrose's bike with enough momentum to send him flying from the bike in a spectacular cartwheel of limbs. There was a flash of white, then grey-blue, then a bright flash of red beneath his eyelids as he landed on his outflung right arm with a sickening crack. The rest of him crumpled to the ground, his head thudding mercifully against the cold asphalt.  
  
A door slammed and he could hear footsteps heavy against the road. He opened his eyes to Trueblood's blurry face, two indistinct blurs behind him. Had he lost his glasses? Was he about to pass out? The pain in his arm was unbearable, he really wished it was the latter.  
  
"Melrose! Are you all right?" Like his face, Trueblood's voice was fading in and out. As much as he was categorically not all right, Melrose was touched by the concern in his friend's voice-  
  
"What were you thinking, throwing yourself in front of my van like that?!"  
  
Melrose groaned and let his eyes close, grabbing onto the blackening edges of consciousness and willing them to drag away from the increasingly louder tirades about the furniture that may have been damaged when he braked.  
  
"'Was right," he murmured, his cheek resting against the almost icy road. The antiques dealer interrupted his ranting and kneeled down next to him.  
  
"Right about what, old trout?" Trueblood asked, tugging at his scarf in worry. Maybe the man had hit his head harder than he thought.  
  
"New neighbors," Melrose answered, irritation seeping through his increasingly foggy voice. "Winged-, winged-" God, winged whats? That was a panther for certain but the girl- He thought of her laugh and the wind fluttering her hair as the blackness settled on him like his own comfortable blankets.  
  
"The winged beasts? Oh God, you have a concussion." Trueblood turned back to the two newest residents of Watermeadows - the young red-headed woman was already fishing in her clutch for her mobile, the young man was looking at the near-unconscious former earl with a strange gleam in his eyes.  
  
"No, the winged Land Rover," Melrose retorted, a serene smile coming to his lips as sleep finally claimed him - even if took a barreling lorry to do it.Much to Trueblood's relief, Melrose didn't have a concussion - but he had a compound fracture of the arm and more scrapes and bruises than he'd ever had as a boy. He had spent a night in the Northampton hospital, and had been well enough (grumpy enough) to release the next day. Marshall, much more apologetic (Melrose suspected Vivian had a fair deal to do with this) had driven him home, and proceeded to out Ruthven Ruthven.  
  
"Any more pillows, old trout?"  
  
"More tea, old sweat? Another port? I can run down the Jack and Hammer and get some Old Peculier.."  
  
"You look cold - I'll get more blankets and see if I can get that fire respectable."  
  
Between the port, fluffy pillows and ocean of feather blankets in which he was drowning, Melrose drifted off most of the first day, which passed like a surreal dream. Trueblood plying him with alcohol, Ruthven trying to get a mere cup of tea in, Vivian bringing flowers, arguing with Trueblood and gently kissing his forehead before she left, Flowers arriving from Jury, saying he would be up as soon as his current case permitted (a break-in at the British library and half the staff in catatonic states), a packet of black biscuits from Wiggins, and Diane dropping in with an elegant black vase and white lilies. She wasn't one to let tact get in the way of her aesthetic sensibilities.  
  
Anyone peering through the front window of Ardry End the next day, glancing upon the convalescing man surrounded by flowers, his kindly aunt pouring him a cup of tea, would have found the scene heartwarming. If they only waited a minute further, they would see the 'kindly' aunt roll her eyes and shake her head and the younger man barely keep from dropping his teacup, a look of genuine outrage on his features. Teatime with Agatha was truly an event. A marathon of Olympic endurance.  
  
"You're just lucky the police didn't cite you for cycling under the influence," the portly woman said, setting yet another fairy cake on her already-full plate, a leaning tower of Bath buns, brandy snaps and the ubiquitous fairy cakes.  
  
"I only had the one port before I left the house, and as you can see," he replied, settling back into the cool manner he had perfected in his aunt's company, "I was hardly a danger to Marshall and his van." His arm was certainly uncomfortable beneath the itchy cast, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as it did the day before. It would be a good eight weeks before the cast would come off, and a few months of physical therapy to restore normal motion. The doctor had told him with a good-natured chuckle he was lucky only the arm was broken; right now, with the prospect of Agatha coming over every day to 'dote' on her nephew with no means of escape was more agony than anything the broken limb could produce.  
  
"Port before lunchtime and you were heading to the Jack and Hammer," Agatha replied in a sad voice, as if Melrose was a completely lost cause. "Your descent into alchoholism-"  
  
"Trust me, it won't be a descent. It will be a headlong plunge." Melrose picked a cucumber sandwich off the tea tray and nibbled thoughtfully. Those winged creatures weren't figments of his imagination, he was sure of that, but that's all of which he was certain. The girl, especially - even without the violet hair and impressive wingspan, he had felt an instant pull towards her - something primal - no, tidal. It wasn't love at first sight, this was different - he felt a pang of guilt over Bea, who was becoming increasingly dear to him - yet he wanted to know why she provoked the reaction she did. But he couldn't merely pop over to Watermeadows and ask for the mysterious butterfly gi-  
  
It wasn't another of Agatha's scathing comments that broke his daydream, but the delicate sound of Ruthven clearing his throat. "A Miss Akizuki to see you, sir," he said, hands clasped behind his back. At Melrose's bewildered look, he merely tilted his head. "From next door."  
  
Melrose nearly shot out of his chair at the news, and he quickly swallowed the last bite of cucumber sandwich. "Show her in, show her in. Maybe another setting, if she'd like to stay for tea?" Oh, how lovely it would be if she'd stay for tea, if it was her, but it couldn't be her, Ruthven would surely be fluttered by the sight of her wings, fluttered, there's an amus -  
  
Stop acting like a teenage boy! he chided himself as the Ruthven showed the young woman in. Melrose opened his mouth in greeting - a squawk that could be construed as 'hello' came out.  
  
Miss Akizuki was tall and willowy, with long brown hair cut in an attractive style, slightly bobbed on top, and wide brown eyes. She was dressed in a short, pleated tweed skirt and a fetching sweater, with knee- highs and black, stylish loafers. She was beautiful yet perfectly ordinary - and yet he felt the same with her as he did two days ago on the road. Add in wings, dye her hair, and they would be the same person.  
  
"Sorry for interrupting," she said, bowing her head, her English unaccented - with the last name he had expected a Japanese woman and she only looked half, at most - auburn hair sweeping after her with the gesture. "We just wanted to bring you these flowers and wish you a speedy recovery." From behind her back, she pulled out a translucent blue vase full of large white and purple roses, but they weren't the true beauties. Between the roses, large silvery blossoms, sparkling in the pale sunlight, fluttered from silver stalks. She handed them to Ruthven, who looked at them with a sparkle of wonder in his old eyes.  
  
"Truly marvelous, madam," the butler said, turning the vase in his hands. Martha, who had just brought out a fresh pot of tea, lets out a gasp of delight.  
  
"They're just roses," Agatha said with a derisive sniff. "Nicer than Vivian's, however." His aunt wouldn't let a day go by without a chance to slander Vivian in his presence - hence why he hadn't told her about Bea.  
  
"Thank you, they're, they're lovely," Melrose said, carefully rising out of his chair. "Please, Miss Akizuki-"  
  
"You can call me Nakuru."  
  
"Nakuru, then." A pleasant warm feeling suffused his cheeks. "You'll stay for tea, of course?"  
  
"I would love to, but I need to be going back," she said, a true pang of regret in her voice. "But would you like to take tea tomorrow at Watermeadows? We would love to have you over." There was a glint in her brown eyes, and for a moment he saw a flash of unearthly crimson in her eyes. This was no ordinary invitation.  
  
"I'd be honored." He'd be delighted, thrilled, ecstatic, actually. "What time should I come over?"  
  
"Is 4:00 all right?"  
  
"It's just perfect. Can I convince you to take a fairy cake with you before you go?" With his good arm, Melrose reached over and snaked Agatha's plate away from her. His aunt's jaw open in indignation, but he pulled the plate out of her reach before she could take any of the pastel- frosted cakes away.  
  
"Thank you! These are just beautiful," Nakuru said with a girlish glee, taking three of the cakes from the plate. Melrose put the plate back in front of Agatha, but not before taking the last two cakes.  
  
"They taste even better," he replied, taking a bite himself and realizing he wasn't just merely being nice to his cook. The cakes were marvelously light, and the frosting was just sweet enough - not cloying at all. What he had been missing all these years - he would have to steal Agatha's beloved fairy cakes more often when she was over for tea.  
  
"I'll have to work extra hard on tomorrow's tea, then," Nakuru said in a sing-song voice as she walked towards the door. "We'll see you tomorrow at 4! Ring us up if you'd like a ride over - it's a long walk."  
  
"I will, Nakuru. Again, thank you for the lovely flowers."  
  
"You're welcome," she giggled, taking a nibble of fairy cake as Ruthven opened the door for her. "Ja ne!"  
  
Melrose quickly ate half of the fairy cake in his hand before Agatha could take it back. Chagrined and red-faced, she pushed herself out of her chair. "Didn't even have the courtesy to invite me along! No courtesy at all! And you-" The last syllable she hurled at Melrose like a javelin.  
  
Melrose, however, could turn his aunt's barbs away with scarcely a withering glance of his brilliant green eyes.  
  
"And me," he said, after popping the very last bit of fairy cake into his mouth, "just ate the last piece of Martha's wonderful cake."  
  
Martha beamed.  
  
Agatha scowled.  
  
Melrose licked the frosting from his lips and only hoped tea at Watermeadows would be as good.

"Will you stop twirling about? You're making me dizzy."  
  
"Ah! Gomen nasai, Suppi-chan!"  
  
An apology? As Nakuru released him and he fluttered to a halt, Spinel didn't know whether to feel gratitude towards the newest focus of her attraction or pity. A great deal of pity.  
  
Nakuru had been baking since after lunch – under Eriol's tutelage she had become rather good – and was just putting the finishing touches on some green tea fairy cakes filled with sweet red bean paste. She had made an impressive spread – tiny sandwiches, petit fours, three types of scones, what looked like a banofee pie and these latest additions. Nakuru's penchant for sweets was legendary.  
  
Spinel's penchant for sweets, however, was something he was desperately trying to control.  
  
The sound of the door chime – a rich, melodious tone that changed every day – made the moon guardian twirl around, whipping off her frilled apron in a deft gesture.  
  
"He's here! He's here!" She put the fairy cakes onto the already-laden tray and pushed it out of the kitchen into the sitting room, humming a light tune. Spinel let out a deep sigh of relief – Nakuru would be out of his hair for sometime. And unless Eriol needed him during the talk that was to come, the sun guardian had a night of peace and quiet awaiting him.  
  
He fluttered up off the table and glimpsed the frosting bowl, pale green frosting clinging to its edges. Just a touch of the best powdered sencha and fresh whipped cream. He dipped his paw into the bowl, admiring the color on his dainty black paws.  
  
Surely one taste couldn't hurt.At least if there was some port, Melrose could blame his red cheeks on the alcohol.  
  
Ever since Nakuru had met him at the door, they had both been in what she would call 'hanyaan-mode.' She had eased off his jacket, carefully minding the sling beneath it, and when her soft fingers "accidentally" brushed the nape of his neck the reaction was electric.  
  
She had certainly kept him well-plied – her cooking may not have been as good as Martha's but for a woman her age (19 to 20, he imagined) it was impressive. When he complimented the green tea cakes, which were unlike anything he had tasted before, she blushed and merely said Eriol was a good teacher who always kept the best tea in the house.  
  
"Eriol? Is he your-"Melrose held his teacup in midair, confused yet intrigued. Brother? Cousin? Some kind of harmless family relation?  
  
"It's a little complicated but I suppose 'Uncle' would be the closest term," Nakuru replied, and Melrose let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "He and Kaho will be down in a while; they're still arranging the furniture upstairs." She didn't mention they were arranging it with the help of The Move.  
  
"They must have been riding in the van with Marshall," he realized, vaguely remembering the fuzzy shapes behind the antiques dealer. Thinking back on the accident, he recalled he had felt a trace of the same aura as Nakuru's from one of the shapes. And from the other, something diminished but still powerful, deep and very old. Something, sadly and disturbingly, that reminded him of his mother.  
  
"They were both worried about you," Nakuru said softly, as if sensing his sudden shift in thought. She bit on her lip and tugged at her hair – she had practiced this scene over and over, just how to explain what he had seen, but before she could broach the subject there was a loud clatter and squeal from the kitchen. A very Suppi kind of squeal.  
  
"Kuso!" Nakuru rose out of her seat, the folds of her skirt swirling around her. "Just wait here, I'll be right back. Our- our cat must have gotten into the cabinets." An even louder clang and a distinct "oishii, oishii!" could be heard from behind the closed door. "Our very clumsy, hyperactive cat," she qualified as she motioned at him to stay seated before she walked over to the door.  
  
Nakuru never even had the chance to open the door. With surprising strength, the tiny, sugar-drunk sun guardian pushed the door out, catching her full in the face. She pressed her hand to her throbbing nose, unable to stop the encounter that was about to occur."I liked the bed the other way. It just made the room look bigger."  
  
"Kaho, dear, the room is 1,000 square feet. How much bigger does it need to look?"  
  
Eriol, in the midst of floating the large four-poster bed a foot above the floor, looked at Kaho with a bemused smile. Kaho blushed and bowed her head, resting her hand against the spacious windowsill.  
  
"Oh, another 500 feet," she answered with a self-depracating laugh. "Anywhere the sun will shine in the morning."  
  
"Sun? In England? My dear, I do believe you're in the wrong country," Eriol answered as he floated the bed to the wall opposite Kaho and the winter, guiding the motion with his staff, which was only a foot taller than him now. In the year since he had given Fujitaka his half of the magic, he had begun catching up to his true age – however, he had stopped the process when he looked to be in his early twenties. He may have been decades older than Kaho but he didn't need to quite look it yet.  
  
"Ahh, I think I can see a bit out on the lake," the young woman said, only to be rewarded by Eriol clasping his arms about her, the sun staff resting against the window. She giggled and turned around to kiss him. She nestled against his shoulder, remembering when she all but towered over him. Now with his lanky form, he had to stoop a little to rest his chin on her shoulder.  
  
"It's amazing just how happy I am with you," she said softly, clasping her hands over his. Her smile faded to a thoughtful, worried frown as she held his hands even tighter. "Especially considering what's to come."  
  
"Everything will be all right," Eriol said soothingly, lifting a hand to brush it through her hair. Sakura's magic spell wasn't for her alone. "Once he gets over the shock, I really think he'll be able to do it."  
  
"But the book, those poor people in London – things are going to happen very fast," Kaho said with a sigh. "Do you think there's enough time?"  
  
"There has to be," Eriol murmured. "And if there's one thing I do have, it's hope." Eriol kissed her temple then gently let her go. "Nakuru has had enough time to stuff him with sweets and maybe brace him for what's to come," he said, sliding up his glasses. "We should make our ent-"  
  
The sound of a tremendous crash from downstairs interrupted him. His heart hammered in fear until he heard another sound – Spinel Sun, in his full form, calling for cake. He heard a man's voice, panicked, asking what the hell he should do, and Nakuru's voice, oddly nasal, yelling to throw the fairy cake away.  
  
"Bloody hell," Eriol whispered as he brandished his staff and headed through the suites connected to the master bedroom out to the balcony overlooking the sitting room. "Though if this doesn't give him an excellent introduction to his strange, new world, nothing will," he said to Kaho, who ran closely besides him. Beneath them, it was chaos, as Nakuru and the neighbor did their best to ward of Spinel Sun single handedly. His moon guardian still had a hand pressed to a bloody and likely misshapen nose, and their neighbor was obviously incapacitated by the sling. Still, he picked up and flung the fairy cakes to the far side of the room with decent speed and strength.  
  
Spinel raced after them with exuberant glee, which in his full form was near lethal force. He ate the cakes faster than Melrose could throw them, however, and he turned on the man with a crazed gleam in his teal eyes. Melrose did the only thing he could do – close his eyes tightly and duck down.  
  
"Return to your false form! Spinel Sun!" Eriol's voice echoed in the large room as he raised his staff. The rampaging panther came to an immediate halt and slowly levitated above the ground, a misty purple light enfolding him. A moment later, a sleeping Suppi tumbled out of the magical cocoon, landing with a plop on Melrose's head.  
  
The former earl blinked cautiously and opened his eyes to see a tiny black paw dangling in front of him. "More....cakes," Suppi murmured as Nakuru came over, her nose a mottled bruise, and plucked him into her arms.  
  
"It wasn't my fault, Eriol-kun! Any other day it would have been, but this time it wasn't me!" Eriol and Kaho began walking down the stairs as Melrose stood up and looked at them with outright bewilderment.  
  
"I believe you, Ruby Moon," Eriol said kindly, prompting Melrose to raise an eyebrow.  
  
"Her true name," the 'young man' said as he and Kaho stepped into the sitting area. "Her name as she is when you first saw her." Melrose's mouth rounded in a soft O of surprise as he sank back onto the couch.  
  
"I was hoping we would get to that," he said, settling his sling into a more comfortable position. "Wasn't sure, exactly, how to bring up the matter." His typical dry humor had crept into his voice as the shock wore off.  
  
"It isn't easy, I know," Eriol said with an equally wry smile. He and Kaho had taken two plush armchairs, and Nakuru, with the sleeping Suppi still in her lap, had taken the open spot next to Melrose. "And I am sorry for the other morning – I told them not to go out until I was sure the wards were secure-"  
  
"Is that how I saw them?"  
  
"Actually, no," Kaho replied with a warm smile, making Melrose feel more at ease. "After you lost consciousness, Ruby Moon and Spinel Sun-"She paused to motion to the sleeping sun guardian. "They made another pass by the road. Your friend, Mr. Trueblood, didn't even notice them. The wards work perfectly – except for those with magical ability. They can see right past them."  
  
She spoke the answer so casually, but the peaceful feeling she had just given was ripped away in a heartbeat. "So if I saw them, it's because I'm some kind of...wizard?"  
  
"I prefer the term sorcerer myself," Eriol commented, as if he was talking about the latest fashion trend. "But whatever you prefer to call it, that's what you are. I wasn't hoping for such dramatic proof of your ability – needless to say you being hit by a furniture van, but I know what I need to know."  
  
"And what is it, exactly, that you know?" Melrose's tone was edgy, urgent, he knew the young man opposite him had lots of knowledge he didn't know. How much of that knowledge he should know, or wanted to, for that matter, was difficult to say.  
  
"A long, long time ago, there was a half-English sorcerer. The Chinese half of his family is well documented and magically still very powerful – and many of them are quite amusing," Eriol said with a trace of a smile. "This sorcerer also had two reincarnations – one is currently a Japanese professor of archaeology, whose daughter posseses her own formidable magic. His other reincarnation - you're currently speaking to him. The English side of his family has all but disappeared. And so if the very last of his family on this side had lost their ability – then we could not even hope to prevent the disaster about to come."  
  
Melrose pushes his glasses down and rubbed at his temple with his good hand. He needed a drink – he needed many drinks and quite possibly some medication – but some small voice inside him thought what Eriol was saying made perfect sense, even if there was no logical reason for it to do so.  
  
"The Earls of Caverness weren't renowned for many things - anything, really, certainly not casting curses and spells," Melrose said as evenly as possible, though as he looked into Eriol's crystal blue eyes, he already knew what his reply would be. The truth of it, another facet of his life about to shatter into a thousand pieces, was burning beneath his skin.  
  
"No, but the Reeds were," Eriol said, looking at his other descendant compassionately. "And if nothing else, Mr. Plant, you are certainly your mother's son."  
  
Across from him, the only son of Marjorie Reed, nee. the late Lady Ardry, looked back with stunned eyes.  
  
-to be concluded in part 2- 


End file.
